Bits and Pieces
by Griddlebone
Summary: Short stories. 50, "Cold": "It's cold out there." A tiny bit of fluff for your New Year's Eve.
1. Mine

Written for iyissekiwa's **ties **theme, originally posted to livejournal on 13 December.**  
**

**Mine**

Time passes as if in slow motion – a moment held in space for an eternity before it slips away. Her hair flies free for that moment, long strands floating as she turns, framing that beautiful face while her expression slowly shifts from confusion to anger.

Smiling, he holds up the hair tie for her to see. She'd barely noticed him grab it, but now that she knows it doesn't take her long to respond.

She is suddenly close to him. One hand seizes the tail of hair, bound at the nape of his neck, and yanks – hard. The other deftly swipes her hair tie from his loosened grip. All this in the space of an instant. A single, glorious instant. She manipulates him beautifully.

"That's mine, pervert." Her voice is angry but her expression says otherwise. She stalks away, hair tie in hand. He stares and has no words.

She looks better with her hair unbound.


	2. Chilled

Written for the inuerotica **Shiver **mini-challenge, originally posted to livejournal on 27 October.

**Chilled **

She was, by now, mostly impervious to the cold. They had been traveling in it a long time and could not seem to escape it, no matter how much they built up their fire.

Sango sat just outside the small cave that was currently serving as their shelter, just enough that she was in the shadows rather than the light streaming from the doorway, and stared at the sky. It was star-bright, faded here and there by wisps of cloud. There was no snow yet, but everything had a frigid, crystalline quality to it.

She did not notice the cold until she suddenly lacked it. As if by some psychic link, Miroku sensed her unease and had come to join her, lending her the heat from his body as he stood just close enough to put her on edge. For a long time neither said a word; it was enough to stand together and watch the sky.

The wind was picking up. It pricked at her bare fingers and the skin of her face and neck, scouring mercilessly at the mountainside.

"You're shivering," he lied, and drew her close, her back to his front.

She relaxed against him, glad of the shared body heat, even as she knew he was lying just so he could touch her. She wanted him to touch her. Being this close to him ignited a warm heat within her, something she could not quite wrap her mind around. In comparison with the cold wind and the darkness, this inner warmth was something close to heaven.

He leaned close, letting his hands roam over her unobstructed while she was enough out of her mind to let him. Pleasant sensations, dulled by the cold and intervening layers of fabric, filled her with languid warmth. For once he paid little attention to her rear, focusing instead on the smooth curves of waist and hips before settling into a massaging rhythm, kneading first one breast, then the other.

His caresses left trails of fire along her skin; it did not matter whether or not she could actually feel him through all her clothing or the numbness from the cold. She had a sudden vision of his hands running along her body with nothing at all separating them. The thought had her practically squirming in his grasp. What was actually happening was irrelevant. What she _wanted_ to happen was more important because it fueled the fire inside her. It occurred to her that he was a bad influence on her, but she let that thought go.

She was trying to be impervious to the cold. It was his hot breath against her neck that finally made her shiver. He placed a languorous kiss upon the sensitive flesh before whispering, "We should go inside now, before the others start to worry. Wouldn't want to get carried away, would we, Sango?"

She blushed furiously at that, but let him take her hand and lead her back into the light and the warmth.


	3. Airborne

Originally intended for iyissekiwa's **flight** theme, though I didn't finish in time.

**Airborne**

Sango smiled and laughed, her hands full of fur. Such a small grip could not hurt one such as Kirara. The laughter was like chimes on the wind.

The ground moved swiftly beneath wide, padded feet. Her step was steady and sure. Run far, run fast, run until you can't run anymore. _That_ was freedom.

There was a sudden drop-off and no more ground to run on. Muscles bunched, pushed, defied gravity. _That_ was the best feeling in the world.

"Kirara?"

She opens one eye and mews. That was a good dream, a memory of happier times. It is dark now, and not so happy, but she still remembers the good times and knows there will be good times again. One must simply be patient and wait for them.

She is engulfed in a warm, familiar embrace. The scent of tears bursts forth. Sango is older now, a woman, battle weary and lonely. She smiles less and less as the days go by, but she still loves to fly.

In a burst of flame, Kirara is ready. The girl understands without words, and climbs onto her companion's back. _Let's go for a midnight run, beloved girl. It's time you laughed again._


	4. Facing the Fear

This drabble was written for iyissekiwa's **tear** theme (and placed first, no less).

Warning: some minor manga spoilers!

**Facing the Fear**

A quiet stirring of wind, that was how it started. Little more than a breeze, really. It wasn't something that normally merited a second thought, but to Sango it was as if her world was crumbling around her.

She knew where the wind came from, and it terrified her. Miroku's wind tunnel.

Had he torn it, she wondered, or was the curse simply progressing? She found, with an odd sense of serenity, that for all his foolhardy attempts at secrecy she could not bring herself to be angry with him.

This man, who she had come to care for, who she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, was dying from his curse. One way or another, by this point it was inevitable. He lay now, unconscious, within Kaede's hut; they were blessedly alone, where no one could see the fear in her eyes or the tears that fell unbidden. There was no one but her to hear the horrible sound of the rushing wind.

Inevitable or not, she had to try to salvage some small portion of his life, the life he had planned to share with her. She was a fighter, born and bred, and knew she could not simply sit back and accept this, no matter the odds against her. She was a warrior, and so she would stand beside him and fight this until the bitter end, but even that knowledge did not ease the painful constriction of her heart.


	5. Quiet Confession

Written for iyissekiwa's **storm** theme.

**Quiet Confession**

His eyes, usually so full of light, were stormy.

She had rarely seen him so troubled. He was always cheerful, or cunning, or sneaky, always hiding his sadness. That was how he had been for as long as she had known him. Longer, in all likelihood. That was how he was meant to be. She was certain of it, and she was never wrong.

He needed comfort, but would not let the others see. She saw anyway and went to sit beside him while the others slept. She had no need for words, so he cuddled her close and said nothing for a while.

"What do I do? This is not like anything I've felt before," he confided eventually, breaking the long silence. His eyes flitted briefly over Sango's sleeping form. "I think I may love her."

"Mew."

"Do you approve, Kirara?" He added quietly, "It's so hard to tell."

Did she approve?

Yes. Under other circumstances, she probably would not. But she had seen the brave and loyal man beneath the well-honed disguise of fraud and con man.

In the end she decided it was not _her_ approval that mattered. She wanted all the things that would make Sango happy. If Sango wanted Miroku – and Kirara knew she did – and if Miroku would make Sango happy – and she had no doubt that he would – then Kirara approved. But how to explain that to him, when she had no use for words?

After a tense and silent moment, Kirara purred.


	6. Good Intentions

Written for iyficcontest's **sleep **theme.

**Good Intentions  
**

"You should get some rest, dear Sango."

The woman in question glowered even more fiercely, her angry eyes just peeking over the edge of the blanket that covered her.

Miroku smiled. "I am simply looking out for your best interests, you know," he informed her, matter-of-factly. "You cannot deny that you are unwell and need time to rest and heal." When even that failed to placate her, he sighed.

He didn't like seeing her huddled under the blankets like that, as if she needed them to defend herself; he recalled, with no little annoyance, that she was hiding under the blankets to get away from _him_.

Minutes ticked past in stony silence. Miroku edged slowly closer to the futon where Sango was supposed to be resting. If she was going to be suspicious regardless of what he did, he may as well give her a reason. She watched him guardedly.

Innocently: "Don't you trust me?"

Her expression remained unchanged.

He leaned over and felt her forehead for any sign of fever with one hand; the other settled comfortably somewhat lower.

"It's not that I don't trust _you_," she grumbled, her face reddening as she gingerly peeled his hand from where it had insinuated itself against her breast. "It's that I don't trust _these hands of yours_!"

Miroku sat back, his face a mask of combined innocence and serene resignation. Perhaps it was just as well to leave her alone. If she wouldn't rest, at least she hadn't hit him. Yet.


	7. Seeing Stars

Written for iyissekiwa's **force **theme.

**Seeing Stars  
**

Miroku had devoted his life to the study of women, knew of their wiles and whims (and, in theory, a thousand ways to satisfy each of them).

He had been drawn to quiet, mysterious women and also to those who were more assertive, who knew how to get just what they wanted. He'd seen something admirable in nearly every woman he had ever met. But he'd never been able to choose just one for his own.

Until he met Sango. This was a woman who was proud and strong, yet for all her warrior's discipline she was also undeniably feminine.

She was delectable prey, and all the more so because she was completely unaware of her unique appeal.

She invaded his thoughts day and night, and though he tried to distract himself (with perfectly respectable distractions like drinking, gambling, and pretty girls) she would not let him ignore her for long.

His hands always itched to touch her, and not just for the feel of soft flesh or lean, powerful muscles.

She did not approve, did not yet know he'd chosen her. That it was forbidden simply made touching her all the more enticing. One sharp rebuke, one outraged slap, was all it took – Miroku couldn't get enough. From that moment he was as good as hers.

The draw was inexorable. Such fire in such a perfect package…

He had to do it… reached out, knew pain, and saw stars.


	8. Hesitance

Written for inukaidan's **fear **theme.

**Hesitance  
**

Sango's heart pounds.

A moment hangs, frozen in time; Naraku stands before her and she cannot move.

He must be destroyed. Her hand is still, hiraikotsu does not fly. Her training is meaningless, and for but one thing.

If she is wrong, if her aim is not true…

Then her friends will surely die, leaving her alone, captive to despair.

She knows it. Naraku knows it. And she cannot move.

Time breaks free. Sango closes her eyes and throws, and prays.

The outcome is irrelevant. A dark seed sprouts within her heart.

It is fear. It is weakness, and inescapable.


	9. The Space Between

Author's Note: Written for week 13 at Feudal Tales. Contains spoilers for the end of the manga.

**The Space Between**

The onsen was quiet, the silence broken only by the soft breaths of the figure seated by the water.

Eyes were turned inward as they considered the past events that had brought them to the mossy banks to think the deep thoughts of a troubled mind.

Sango hugged her arms around herself and wished for time.

Time had always been the enemy… It began with the kazaana threatening to consume Miroku; those days had been the first baby steps into chaos. Sango remembered days bleeding together in a whirlwind of fear and panic, until the sacred jewel was destroyed and Naraku along with it.

Her beloved had been safe, but then the waiting game had begun. Kagome had vanished from the face of the earth and this time not even Inuyasha could fetch her back. It had been three days of agonized waiting before they found out the news, and it broke Sango's heart anew.

And while she was distracted by her sorrows – and Miroku distracted with worry for her – Kohaku seized his opportunity and slipped away. He had taken Kirara with him and had such a great head start that Miroku had worried that they would never find him. Sango, as stubborn as always, had insisted on searching for him. So they had packed up their meager belongings and set off down the road again, leaving Inuyasha and Shippo silent and glowering behind them.

She had been optimistic then, had firmly believed that Kohaku would return to them of his own accord or that they would at least find some sign of him.

And now… Sango was certain that they never would.

She huddled down deeper in the water, vainly hoping that the heat would soothe her aching body.

No, there was no chance to continue their months-long search for her brother. It had taken her most of their journey for her to realize that her cycle was not merely delayed, but stalled altogether, and soon there would be no hiding that fact from Miroku. He was a perceptive man, she reflected dourly, and he probably suspected if he did not already know.

They had married before setting out after Kohaku, and it had never once occurred to her to deny her husband or herself the pleasures of their marriage. There was solace in Miroku's arms. She had been too grateful to see their battles over, too worried about her brother's fate to even consider the consequences of her actions. She had not thought that their union would result in a child so quickly.

She had a month, perhaps a few weeks more, before Miroku would catch on or her conscience would force her to confess. This was not at all how she had envisioned her happy ending.

Sango shuddered with repressed tears. She'd always wanted a family of her own, but she had never imagined it would cost her the chance to include her brother in that family.

ooooo

A short distance away, close enough to keep an eye on her but far enough away that Sango would not easily spot him, Miroku watched. He watched and wondered and worried and felt his heart break just a little to see her so abjectly miserable and know he could do nothing to give her comfort.


	10. Remembrance

Author's Note: Written for week 16 at Feudal Tales. Contains spoilers for the end of the manga.

**Remembrance**

Sango sat alone on a small hillock just outside the hut she shared with her husband, staring into space. If she leaned back, she could rest her head against the wall of the hut and stare up at the stars that sprinkled the sky with light. She listened to the faint sounds of Miroku settling their children for the night, but could not muster a smile.

No, she was always restless at this time of year. Despondent, plagued by melancholy, and counting down the days.

After several minutes of quiet, Miroku emerged from the hut and came to sit beside her. His sudden presence in the dark, quiet and comforting, reminded her of the old days, of the journey that had brought them together.

He did not make a move toward her, seemingly content to let her have her own space. By now he knew that she would come to him when she was ready.

She was not ready to talk about it just yet, but she was glad for the company – and the understanding.

When she finally felt even a little composed, she began, "It's been –"

She could not finish. Miroku did it for her. "Five years. I know, my love."

Every year she knew this day was coming and dreaded its arrival. And every year the pain returned, just as unbearable as it had ever been. "Do you think he will return?"

"Ah, Sango, I wish I knew. But who can say? If he ever feels ready, I believe he will return." He inched closer and took her into his arms, holding her while she fought against tears she refused to shed.

She had dedicated a year of her life to avenging her people, with the singular goal of saving her brother's life, only to have him leave her again almost as soon as he was saved. For the rest of the year she could pretend that she was fine, that all the scars had healed, but not tonight. Not on the anniversary of Kohaku's departure.

To have done so much, gone so far, for the sake of one person… Sango hated her brother as much as she knew he needed to do what he had done. After all of the crimes he had been forced to commit, he had a deep need to atone. But to leave her, after all that? She could not even know whether he was alive or dead.

She looked back to the sky, then, resting her head on Miroku's shoulder. She hoped that somewhere out there her brother and Kirara still sought whatever it was they sought. Atonement. A continuation of the demon slayers' traditional ways. She did not know, but she wished them luck and prayed for their good health.

Someday, they would return.

She had to keep telling herself that.

Tears slid down her cheeks, heedless of her attempts to keep them at bay.

Miroku pressed a kiss to the top of her head and held her closer. He was a living, breathing reminder of all the other things she had to live for: family, and friends, and love.

Snuggling into his embrace, she was thankful for the warmth and strength he shared with her. She drew a thankful breath, but could not find words to express her gratitude. "Miroku…"

He murmured something so softly that she could not make out the words.

"… Thank you." _For staying beside me. For giving me your love, your devotion. For letting me hold onto this pain. For _everything_._

They did not sleep that night, and instead sat outside, watching the forest. In the darkness neither saw the solitary figure that lingered just beyond the nearest trees and they dozed, blissful and unaware, as it disappeared with the dawn.

Someday, he would return.


	11. Bound

Author's Note: Written for inukaidan's "ice storm" theme.

**Bound**

Miroku felt confined, bound; he needed to push at the invisible walls that were closing in around him – and so he did.

It was effortless. Second-nature, almost.

The slightest thing could spark his interest, set off the urge for freedom. A glint in the eye, the swish of lustrous hair, the curve of hip or breast, outlined by the finest silk or mere peasant's garb.

Take the woman's hand, look her in the eyes, and ask The Question.

The question that had been burned into even his subconscious from the time of his earliest memories. He blamed the curse, but it was more than that.

He needed to push the boundaries now, more than ever before.

The woman was undeniably lovely. He did not even know her name or her family. He did not need to. By now he could not resist the pull.

A few exchanged pleasantries, mere words, and then he drew her in. Words spilled out.

"Ah, my lovely lady, would you do me the honor of bearing my child?"

Sango's ire was palpable. He glanced in her direction, met her gaze for a split second before she gave a huff and stormed off.

The fury in her eyes chilled his blood to ice and caused his heart to constrict painfully in his chest. If he had held that frigid gaze just a moment longer, he was sure his heart would have frozen solid and ended his miserable life.

A thought flitted through his head. When had he become so ... attached … to Sango? In the end, he supposed it did not matter.

He watched her go, the woman in his arms forgotten.

He should have known better than to do such a thing, and right in front of her, even. She was a jealous creature and he should not push her. Once she staked a claim, she would defend it with every ounce of force she possessed.

He'd be a fool not to have noticed the sidelong glances, the blushes, the way she overreacted to the slightest advance, yet allowed blatant infractions when she thought nobody was looking. Yes, she had claimed him. And he… had allowed her to do so, in spite of his very nature.

Then again, he'd done all this on purpose.

He _relished _it. All of it. The anger, the jealousy, the lust. The love that might be, if either of them were even capable of it at this point. The inescapable bond that tied them together.

"Sango!" Finally, he moved, left that other, nameless, girl behind without a thought. She might have died on the spot, for all he noticed. He had to follow Sango, was driven by inner turmoil.

But even as he soothed her seething anger and said just the right things to make up for his transgressions, he knew it for the farce it was.

He was bound to her, and she was his master. Only she could curb the perverse urges that ran rampant within him. He had to push her. He wanted her to pull on the chain round his neck, to squeeze at his heart until it burst. He needed her to force him into submission in that effortless way of hers.

The pain, the needing, the pushing, the fighting… all of it brought brief flashes of reality into a life dominated by the specter of a curse. Sango's love was only as real as the pain she caused him.

So he would push, and she push back, and then they would together make things right, or as right as they could be.

And he would hope, as he did every day, that some day they could stop the games and the fighting and see if they could love, after all.


	12. Kiss and Tell

Author's Note: Written for iyissekiwa's "catch" theme.

**Kiss and Tell  
**

Their lips met, softly, hesitantly. If not for Miroku's smirk as they pulled apart, it might have been chaste.

Sango looked away, flushing with embarrassment; the monk's arms around her were all that kept her from flight.

He felt her tense up and found that her expression was oddly… guilty.

Interesting.

"Is something wrong, lovely Sango?"

She shook her head. "N-nothing's wrong."

She was a terrible liar. She was hiding something, but what?

"What could be upsetting you so much?" He feigned deep thought. "Kissing me is distasteful?"

She shook her head.

"Perhaps you are not so inexperienced as I thought," he teased. She grew even more flustered at that. Had he guessed correctly already? "Perhaps another lover–"

"It's not that at all!"

"Oh?" He quirked a brow.

She bit her lower lip; he pressed harder. "Then why do you look at me so guiltily?"

"I've never kissed another man!" she swore, blushing.

"Then–"

"I kissed _you_!" she blurted out, hiding her face against his shoulder.

"If such a wondrous event occurred, I should recall it," he mused, almost to himself.

"You… you were dying." Her voice was muffled.

"Before Naraku was slain?"

She nodded. "You were unconscious, from Magatsuhi's poison."

Suddenly, he burst out laughing. "Why Sango! I would never have guessed you had it in you! Such debasement! Such pervers–"

Fuming, Sango slapped him, hard enough to cut him off mid-sentence. Grinning despite the pain in his cheek, Miroku pulled her in for another kiss.


	13. Old Habits

Author's Note: Written for the "change" theme at the new Miroku/Sango livejournal community, mirsan_fics.

**Old Habits  
**

There was a tiny hole in the wall of the hut, more of a crack, really, but just big enough to peer through if one looked at the proper angle. Miroku, of course, was an expert at finding just the right vantage point – and just the right spectacle. In this case, as it often was, the spectacle was Sango.

She'd just returned from slaying a demon in a nearby village, and had gone into the hut to change from her slayer's uniform into her yukata. He'd wasted barely a heartbeat before taking up his position and pressing close against the wall in order to get the best possible view.

His heart pounded as she slipped out of the armor and form-fitting bodysuit; his mouth ran dry with anticipation as she adjusted the wrappings that bound her breasts. Oh, she was a sight!

He was aware of movement nearby, half-glimpsed out of the corner of one eye, but he remained focused on the sight within the hut. Just a bit more, come on…

Sango turned slightly, giving him the much hoped-for view of that wonderful butt. Miroku let out a happy sigh…

…Just as the space immediately next to him filled up with altogether too much angry demon cat. He let out a sound that was half yelp and half strangled gasp, and simultaneously fell backward and flailed awkwardly against the building beside him.

Panicked, he was extremely aware of crackling flames and enormous fangs dangerously close to his person. It was obvious that he had gravely offended her by spying on her mistress. There was no escaping - surely he was doomed.

Kirara growled one more time in warning before departing as abruptly as she had appeared. The cat transformed to her smaller shape and settled down a short distance away, licking furiously at one leg as if she had not just scared him silly.

He had enough time to breathe a sigh of relief and slump against the hut wall before Sango came charging around the corner, Hiraikotsu at the ready. Instinctively, he closed his eyes and flinched, but the expected blow never came. He felt the movement of air as the massive weapon slammed into the ground beside him, but not the resounding pain of impact.

He cautiously opened his eyes, to see that Sango – who had dressed in delightful haste and seemed oblivious to the view she was providing – was watching him with consternation.

"Is something the matter?" he asked with all the composure he did not feel.

"Why would you do something like that?"

She looked oddly upset about the whole thing. "Like what?"

"You were spying on me," she pointed out, her voice rising in anger.

"Ah, that." He almost squirmed under that gaze. Such power! Such ferocity! "I wanted to see you."

For a long time, Sango made no response. Long enough that he began to feel distinctly nervous. He was on the verge of concluding that his best chance for survival was flight when she finally spoke.

"If you want to look, you just have to ask," she said, blushing profusely. Belatedly, she added, "husband."

Miroku grinned. And to think, until recently he had been terrified by the prospect of marrying Sango, of actually limiting himself to only one woman for the rest of his life. He'd been a fool.

"May I ask for anything else?" he asked, pushing himself upright and hoping that she did not see the way his legs still shook.

"Uhm," Sango fretted to herself. It was obvious that she did not _quite_ trust him yet, though they had been married for some time now. It amused him to see her so flustered, when what he had in mind was not perverted at all. Not for someone like him, at least.

"I promise you'll like it," he added with as much innocence as he could muster.

"I –"

"I'll take that as a yes," he said, his grin widening as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly.

They might be married now, their battles over and done, and their new life together still just beginning, but he had a feeling that some things would never change.


	14. Midnight Confession

Author's Note: Written for the "laughter" theme at the Miroku/Sango livejournal community, mirsan_fics.

**Midnight Confession  
**

Miroku woke, bleary eyed, and unsure of why, exactly, he was waking up in the middle of the night. It was still dark outside, the hut was quiet… and the space beside him was empty.

Sango.

Rousing himself from the last vestiges of sleep, he went to find her. It didn't take long; she was sitting outside their hut, staring at the sky.

"It's getting to be too cold for this," he commented, sitting beside her.

She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden intrusion. "Miroku! I didn't hear you come out."

"I woke up and you were gone," he explained. "Is something the matter?"

"Just these damned _dreams_."

"Dreams?" She'd never mentioned dreams before, had always shrugged off his questions about her midnight stargazing. "Bad dreams?"

She nodded, shifting to lean against him so he could wrap an arm around her. She was shaking slightly. "Care to talk about it?"

"I- I remember my grave. Where they buried me, before I went to fight Inuyasha," she explained, speaking more quickly as her story spilled out. "Only in my dreams there's no way out. And I can't block out the sound of Naraku's laughter. It's everywhere, and it won't stop, even when I'm suffocating…" She paused. "I needed space."

She turned to look up at him then, her eyes filled with tears. "I thought the nightmares would stop, once he was dead."

"They'll fade with time, Sango," he said, wishing his words were more than an empty promise.


	15. Jealousy

Author's Note: Written for the "friendship" theme at the Miroku/Sango livejournal community, mirsan_fics.

**Jealousy**

Sango watched out of the corner of one eye, even as she feigned indifference. She was acutely aware of the monk's antics as he flirted with the village women…

He had a way with women; with people, really. His personable disposition, genuine smile, and easy laugh drew people, women especially, to him.

She was, she had to admit, jealous. She knew it was foolish. There was no reason for it. Yet there it was.

He was the consummate flirt; she steadfastly refused to allow him to sway her. Small wonder that he sought solace elsewhere.

But when their business was done in any given village, he would leave the women behind, and it was she that he traveled with on his quest. She had no right to be jealous. They were traveling companions, and, she supposed, maybe even friends.

Friends. They were not lovers, not married. There had been no oaths exchanged, just a journey and quest shared between them. She allowed him no claim on her, and in turn had no right to claim him.

It had been simple at first, to be put off by the pervert's mask he wore so often. Now, things were not so straightforward.

And so here she was, sitting alone and moping like a child, angry yet again that the man she had refused to want had broken a vow he'd never made.

_We're_ friends, she thought, struggling against the tightening in her chest. _It's not like I thought we could be… more…_


	16. Shattered Strength

Author's Note: Written for the "stars" theme at the Miroku/Sango livejournal community, mirsan_fics.

**Shattered Strength**

Sango was in a dark place. She had been wandering there for hours, ever since the latest battle with Naraku. The outside world darkened, faded, and burned away, leaving her alone in the all-encompassing dark. Alone…

She hated being alone.

There had been a time when she had not been alone. She'd had a place to belong. Friends, family – Kohaku!

Now all she had left was an endless journey and no hope of victory, just the endless striving, endless fighting, and endless sorrow.

She had a dim feeling that she stood alone on a darkened hillside, her face turned to the sky, but none of that seemed real. Instead, she stared into the vast and empty dark, and watched as the essence of memories surrounded her. The memories were tiny and brilliant sparks in the darkness, scalding her skin like so many stars.

Kohaku, Father, the village… cursed, ill-fated friends… stabbed in the back, bleeding, dying… Kohaku!

Her brother, lost to her… Everything, lost.

With nothing left, she felt ready to drift away from it all.

There was a sudden weight against her wrist: not a chain, but a hand, strong and soft at the same time, and blazing hot against her skin. It felt almost as if it were pulling her back…

"Sango."

She knew that name, knew the man who spoke. He had a name, too, though she'd never used it. If she thought really hard, she might remember it.

_Miroku_. Syllables came to her mind uninvited, throwing her off balance.

There was another gentle touch, the barest brushing of fingers against the small of her back, and an admonition: "Careful, you'll fall."

She thought, detachedly, that if she were to fall, it would be _up_, not down. Up, to the stars. To accept her pain with open arms and burn in agony for the rest of time.

She felt fragile, breakable, hollow inside and feather-light. But his presence, so close, was comforting.

"Look," he said calmly, as if she were not drifting away, "a shooting star."

She turned to look, her eyes dead and uncaring, and knew she had already missed it. "Yes," she agreed.

She stared, but the stars were as far away as ever, as if his grip kept her rooted to the ground.

There was silence for a long time. She wanted him to say something harsh, to push her further into the dark and close off the light forever. She wanted him to abandon her, sealing away hope with despair.

Instead, when he finally broke the silence it was with hope, a thin strand of light that pierced the darkness in her heart.

"We'll save him, Sango. Don't give up."

Tears sprang to her eyes, unbidden, and she folded helplessly into his embrace. For a long time she cried on his shoulder, took shelter in his arms, her weakness a dark and awful secret between them.

The darkness was still there, ready and waiting to take her.

But she wasn't alone, after all.


	17. Rain on Light

It had been raining for weeks, never ceasing.

Miroku was starting to worry that the village would soon be facing floods. He was also worried about something far closer to home: Sango.

She had been more withdrawn then normal lately, in spite of the birth of their first children. The excitement he felt when remembering the joy of his children, _their_ children, was quickly quashed by the sight of his wife.

It looked like she was mourning.

_She misses Kohaku_, he realized, and wondered for the hundredth time what had possessed the boy to leave.

_Will the rain ever stop?_


	18. Circle of Life

Miroku did not think he had ever been more proud of his family than on this day. It was no ordinary day, for today, wooden practice weapons in hand, Sango had begun to guide the eldest of their children through the very first exercises of real Slayer training.

He had been able to help with their physical conditioning early on, but knew little of the arts that Sango would now begin to teach them, so he confined himself to watching their progress from afar.

"If you don't knock it off with the proud father shit, I'm gonna have to hit you, monk," Inuyasha commented from where he stood next to Miroku, watching the children.

"Go ahead, my friend. Go ahead," Miroku agreed absently. He didn't think the hanyou would actually do it, until he found himself sprawled on the ground, dazed, and with the sound of Inuyasha's laughter ringing in his ears.

"Someday you won't be laughing," he retorted dizzily, "When my kids can kick your ass!"


	19. Psycho Butterfly

Tiny specks of light danced all around, tormenting and teasing.

"What do you think they are?" Sango asked, reaching out to cautiously touch one. The movements suddenly turned darker, as if she had angered the lights, whatever they were.

"I don't know," Miroku admitted. "A manifestation of some youkai, perhaps."

Sango frowned, and pushed forward, deeper into the temple. Miroku had to admit, the large and mostly rotted building even made him nervous, so say nothing of the strong demonic presence. He could see why it had been abandoned.

Hastening to follow his wife, Miroku entered the main chamber of the building. He knew immediately what the source of the problem was: a large, grotesque mass near the back wall, vaguely resembling a cocoon.

"This is it," he said, approaching it to place a variety of potent ofuda against it. The moment the paper touched it, the lights vanished.

Taking this as her cue, Sango smashed the thing with Hiraikotsu; instead of exploding into dust, as she had expected, it exploded outward with gooey, glowing liquid and bits of insects.

Miroku leapt out of the way in shock, thankfully missing most of it, but it hit Sango head-on.

It did not appear to be dangerous, just… sticky.

"Glow worms… ugh, gross," Sango muttered, ineffectually trying to wipe some of the phosphorescence from her face.

To his chagrin, Miroku could only laugh.

After earning himself a blow to the head from Hiraikotsu, he swore he could see the dancing lights again…


	20. Separate Ways

She was avoiding him. It wasn't something she was doing deliberately, she thought, but she knew all the same that it was the coward's path.

She couldn't help it.

She had a sinking, awful feeling in her gut that told her that now that Naraku was slain, he had no further interest in her. That despite his words and promises, she had been merely a traveling companion. That he would leave her.

Sango frowned. _What if I don't want to go our separate ways? What then, monk?_

"Something on your mind?" The sudden sound of his voice, very close by, made her jump. Ordinarily she was more alert than this, and would never have allowed him to get so close undetected.

"Erm, no, nothing," she protested. _Coward!_

"I want to show you something, if that's all right with you," he said, softly. He was standing beside her now, leaning on the fence that she was sitting on.

"Okay."

Nervously, she allowed him to lead her through the village. She began to grow more apprehensive the closer they got to the forest, but he stopped walking before they could enter.

There was a small clearing here.

"Here we are," Miroku said pleasantly.

Sango stared in consternation, wondering what she was supposed to see. "Uhm, Houshi-sama…"

"What do you think? Is this a place suitable for building a home?"

"A home…?"

"_Our_ home," he clarified.

"Our home…" she pondered, apprehension melting away. "It's perfect."


	21. Zachem Ya

Sango lay on the hillside, let out a deep breath, and stared up at the sky. It had been a hellish day; she thought she deserved a break. _Alone_.

She added the last part rather grumpily, upon noticing that she was not as alone as she had hoped. The monk, that damnable monk, lingered nearby, probably keeping an eye out for any opportunities for further lechery.

She sighed.

The clouds began taking on angry shapes in her mind's eye.

_Why does it have to be this way, Houshi-sama? Can't you see that if you didn't approach every woman in every village with your stupid request, then we wouldn't have to fight…_

She caught herself watching him, her eyes brimming with angry tears, and knew she was being stupid.

But stupidity paid off, and a few moments later the monk came to sit beside her. "Watching the clouds?" he asked, his voice pleasantly soft. As if nothing had happened earlier, as if she hadn't overreacted and stormed off after seeing him proposition some woman.

"Yes."

"What do you see?" he asked, leaning close and peering upward, to get a better idea of her point of view.

She shrugged, noticing that her tears were already gone, and listened to him make up silly, scandalizing stories about the things he saw in the clouds. He didn't lay a hand on her, just… stayed.

And, bit by bit, the seething anger within her calmed, and was replaced by something else that was not quite love, and not quite contentment, but somewhere in between.


	22. Winter Chill

Written for the "heat" prompt at the lj community mirsanficart, as part of the Summer Challenge.

**Winter Chill**

Sango's hands were numb. The weather was bitterly cold, yet she knew as much as the others that they had to keep going; they had to find shelter before the storm hit. It was taking all of her focus to keep an eye on Inuyasha, Kagome and Shippo running below them and to remain alert for any sign of shelter.

It took her a while to realize that Miroku was up to something. At first, he had slowly edged Hiraikotsu from its place on her back. When he offered to take the weapon, she was only half paying attention, and agreed without a fuss. It was one less distraction. If he wanted to take on the burden, that was fine with her.

But when he slid forward to sit very close behind her, and wrapped his arms around her to pull her against his chest, the game was up.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" she hissed.

"Sharing body heat," he replied amicably, as if he were doing nothing out of the ordinary. "If we don't find shelter soon, we could freeze to death."

He had a point, no matter how annoyed the invasion of her personal space might make her. She already felt warmer, just from the extra layers of fabric around her middle and the warmth of his body against her back.

She hesitated for a moment, mentally weighing the pros and cons of the situation. It wasn't much of a debate. "Just keep your hands to yourself."

"I shall do my best, but I make no promises."

She sighed, but left it at that.

As they flew on, Miroku kept his arms wrapped around her middle, his hands tucked safely into his sleeves, and made no objectionable moves. In fact, she found herself relaxing. If she buried her hands deep in Kirara's fur, she could almost pretend it wasn't quite so cold.

But as time went by with no sign of respite and the storm creeping ever closer behind them, Sango found herself feeling more and more frustrated.

"This isn't looking good," she commented, giving voice to some of that frustration in the hopes of calming herself. The fear that crept into her voice prompted her to add, "We may have to camp in the open and hope the storm isn't that bad."

"I'm sure we'll manage."

"How can you be so calm about this?" In spite of her best attempts to control her temper, she knew that this conversation could not end well.

"If all else fails, we'll just make our own heat."

"Don't even start."

"I can think of a number of ways," he continued, resting his chin on her shoulder and keeping his voice low. "Why –"

"Don't make me hit you, monk," she grumbled.

He did shut up then, but she knew it would not escape his notice that she let him keep his arms around her. She'd pay for that later.

Sango sighed and turned back to the search for shelter.


	23. Rainy Day

Written for the "rain" prompt at the lj community mirsanficart, as part of the Summer Challenge.

**Rainy Day  
**

"I'm surprised," Miroku commented.

"About what?" Sango asked, the tone of her voice betraying her exasperation.

"That you have made no comment about the weather."

She sighed. "Complaining about it will not stop the rain."

"No, I suppose not," he continued good-naturedly.

Sango saw little to be happy about. She had agreed to go on a walk with him just to get out of Kaede's hut for a little while, but the weather had taken a turn for the worse and it had been raining for quite some time now. They still had a ways to go before they would be back to warmth and shelter. Quite frankly, it was making her cranky. "What are you so happy about?"

"I remember another rainy day," he murmured. "A wondrous, rainy day."

"Oh, really?" She came to a stop, putting her hands on her hips. He came to a stop beside her, but looked a great deal more amused than irritated.

"It was just after we dealt with a certain ardent young lord that had his eye on you." He paused, chuckling softly. Sango did not like where the discussion was going. His reminiscences of their past "romantic" encounters, however subtle or tame, always made her uncomfortable. "It was raining, and you let me share an umbrella with you. I've seldom known rain to be so pleasant an experience."

She blushed hotly, and could contain herself no longer. "That was Kagome's idea!"

He smirked and leaned close to whisper, "But it wasn't Kagome that stood beside me that day. And she is not the one beside me now."

Her heart beat fast as he pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin of her neck.

As he pulled away, he gave her a small smile.

"Wait," she said, barely able to hear her own voice over the rush of blood in her ears. She caught his wrist with one hand; he shifted so that their palms came together, fingers interlacing almost of their own accord.

"Yes, Sango?"

"I…"

Before she could lose her nerve, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. For a long moment, he did not respond. And then he shifted, pulling her into a heated embrace, deepening the kiss.

She knew they ought to head back, that Kaede and the others would be worried about them. She knew it was improper to be so forward with a man that was not her husband. She knew many things, and they all fell by the wayside.

This was what mattered.

Not the rain, not their obligations, not their friends' worry.

Not even the sorrow that plagued them daily.

Just this stolen moment of happiness.


	24. Letting Go

Author's Note: Written for the "hold" theme at the Miroku/Sango livejournal community, mirsan_fics.

**Letting Go  
**

Miroku could feel her disapproving gaze even without seeing it. He could hear her scolding without her needing to speak.

He did not acknowledge her annoyance, and instead focused on his meditation. He kept his breathing even and his arms folded across his chest, hands tucked into his sleeves, as if he did not even notice her agitation.

While she radiated frustration, he emanated serenity. It was a mask he had perfected long ago, this image of focus and calm.

"Feh. Spill it, wench. Starin' at him like that ain't doin' any good."

Even without opening his eyes, he could imagine her turning to glare at the hanyou in response to the sudden outburst. It was tough to keep a smile from his face.

"Ugh, fine!" the young priestess snarled, finally. "Miroku, how can you just let her go off on her own like that?"

So that was the problem.

He gave no acknowledgement of the question, but his serenity was hopelessly shattered.

Kagome's approach was all wrong, but she was too headstrong and self-assured, in this, at least, to see it. Sango might be hurting, but she would not appreciate such an invasion of her privacy. She needed time. She needed space to think and come to grips with the situation, and only then would she allow anyone to offer comfort.

He should know. He had been on the receiving end of her rebuffs too many times to risk approaching her without caution.

So he waited, biding his time and doing his best to ignore Kagome's increasing frustration. If she was so worried, perhaps she ought to go after Sango herself. Even as he thought it, he knew why she would not do such a thing.

She saw it as his task, an excuse to push him and Sango together.

He did not entirely blame her; as he was a monk, it was often easier for Sango to share her grief with him than with the others. And to be entirely honest, he did not mind at all, save for the threat of violence should he anger the slayer.

He waited several minutes more, gauging the time by his deep, measured breaths and the occasional flip of a page as Kagome browsed through one of her schoolbooks.

When he judged that enough time had passed, he stood and moved silently out of camp, following Sango's trail into the forest. It was easy enough to follow; she had made no attempt to disguise or hide her path. She had gone farther than he expected, and he had to follow the trail for a long time before there was any sign of her.

His worry grew with each step. It wasn't like her to go this far.

ooooo

Sango hurled Hiraikotsu again, smashing the enormous bone weapon into an already damaged tree trunk. She had been unable to contain her anger and fear, and had thought it best to steer clear of camp – and her friends – for a while, to let her temper cool.

It wasn't their fault that Naraku was using her brother as a puppet, just to torment her.

It wasn't their fault the torture worked so well.

And, unfortunately, it seemed that no matter how many trees she injured, she could not let go of the pain.

A sudden sound nearby had her whirling, only just managing not to throw her weapon when she realized who it was.

Miroku. She should have known. She had left camp a long time ago, and he was probably worried about her. She couldn't blame him, really.

"Don't hold back on my account," he said, his expression calmly unreadable.

"What are you talking about, monk?" She kept her voice carefully controlled, lest she give away the depth of her pain.

"Your exercises," he answered. "You stopped the moment you became aware of my presence. There is no need to stop. I will not interfere." When she eyed him skeptically, he added, "Kagome was worried about you."

Only Kagome was worried about her? Knowing full well that this was a dangerous line of thought, Sango turned her focus elsewhere. "I'm sorry. I needed to… get away for a while."

Miroku said nothing; he did not need to. She knew he understood.

"I can leave, if you would prefer," he offered, startling her.

"No, stay." Blushing, she corrected, "It's fine if you stay."

"If you insist," he agreed, his voice pleasant. It was almost as if he did not mind her moodiness in the slightest. Then again, he had never been one to push her… except when she needed it.

Still, she felt foolish beating up trees and throwing her weapon at invisible enemies in front of an audience, even if that audience did not appear to be paying much attention at all. She caught Hiraikotsu on the return from a half-hearted throw, then paused to glare at the monk.

He was sitting at the base of a tree, eyes closed, apparently deep in meditation.

Sango frowned.

If he was going to insist on sticking around, the least he could do was help.

ooooo

"Hey, monk."

Miroku's eyes shot open at the interruption of his meditation. He was unaccustomed to such a brusque tone from Sango. Even more surprising, she was crouched very close in front of him, her eyes level with his, and her face perhaps a handsbreadth from his own. It took him a moment to slow his racing heart and disguise his surprise. "Yes?"

"Spar with me."

"Spar… with you…"

"Yes."

He hesitated for a moment, but only just; Sango was a tough opponent, and this could be a very bad idea if she did not plan to go easy on him. But if it was what she wanted… "Okay."

For all her apparent self-confidence, Sango seemed just as nervous as he was. They had never really fought one another before, not even for practice.

They started off slowly, exchanging rather timid blows with their respective weapons. He was glad he had thought to bring his staff with him, and that she chose to use her sword instead of the Hiraikotsu. He did not relish the thought of fighting Sango in hand-to-hand combat, much less when she was wielding her signature weapon.

Gradually, they began moving faster, with greater force and intensity in their controlled movements. She was tough. Her strength and stamina were more than a match for him. Ordinarily, he would have taken the time to fully appreciate the implications of such a realization, but he needed to focus all of his attention on matching her movements lest he make a mistake and end up injuring himself.

It was almost scary, he thought, that she had this much angry energy left. He blocked blow after stinging blow from the sword, his arms beginning to ache and his hands growing numb from the repeated impacts against his staff.

He changed tactics, running or dodging when he could, but that only made him grow winded.

The redness that crept onto her face and her tightly controlled breathing were the only signs that Sango was exerting herself at all. He was beginning to worry that this had been a supremely bad idea.

Just when he thought his strength would give out, Sango sheathed her sword and relented. "All right, enough."

She sat down heavily, then flopped onto her back with uncharacteristic abandon. Despite her flushed face and heavy breathing, or perhaps because of it, Miroku thought he had never seen her look quite so content.

He sat silently beside her, grateful for the break. He had no idea what she might be thinking, or even if their sparring match had helped her let go of some of her pain.

Several long moments later, Sango sat up. She was ready to talk, it seemed, and her words made everything well worth the effort – and the aches and pains he would undoubtedly be suffering tomorrow, after overexerting himself today.

All she said, and all she needed to say, was, "Thank you."

ooooo

A while later, Miroku and Sango made their way back into camp. Both were still a little sweaty and out of breath from their sparring session, but Sango's spirits were soaring. It had been a long time since she had trained with a partner, and she had to admit that it felt good.

After carefully storing Hiraikotsu – all the while very much aware of her friends' curious stares – she plopped down next to Kagome and helped herself to some dinner. Miroku took up a position on the opposite side of the fire.

She dug eagerly into the noodles, having not realized just how hungry she was.

"So, feeling better?" Kagome asked, a sly tone to her voice.

Sango knew exactly what the other girl was insinuating; after all, she and Miroku had been gone – alone – for some time, and now looked rather disheveled. "Much," she said, with a teasing smirk.

Inuyasha choked on his ramen.

For once, Miroku had nothing to add.


	25. Before the Dawn

Author's Note: Written for the "sun" prompt at the lj community mirsanficart, as part of the Summer Challenge.

**Before the Dawn  
**

They were alone. They had even left Kirara behind, but Sango barely noticed. Her heart was empty and broken and, it seemed, her mind had gone with it.

It felt roughly as if they had been walking forever. It had been hours, at least. The sun was beginning to creep over the horizon, although its return did little to restore light to her life.

When they stopped walking, she blinked in confusion. She did not recognize their surroundings, and wondered what had possessed her to follow in the first place. Miroku's hand on her wrist, obviously.

He turned to her, his hands on her shoulders. "_Talk_ to me, Sango. What is wrong?"

She shook her head. She had no words with which to tell him of the hopelessness that was eating her alive.

The Shikon jewel was nearly complete. When Kohaku's shard was taken, he would die. The last of her family…

And she had seen the shouki wounds, winding their way up Miroku's arm from the kazaana in his palm. He had tried to hide the damage, the visible countdown to his inevitable death, but she had seen anyway…

And with that, her hope had died.

"Let me help you," he continued. "Just tell me how."

He was so perceptive that it was easy to forget that he was not a mind-reader, and needed some cue from her before he could help her. When she gave none... he was lost. His eyes searching hers, his voice, his fear, all worked to draw her back to herself.

His grip on her shoulders forced her to look at him. It was easy to step into his embrace and let him enfold her in his arms.

Tears came, then, freed by the comfort only he dared provide.

She ignored the tears and pressed herself closer against him. She had not been able to bear thinking before, but now, like the tears, she could not help herself.

_Make me whole._

She still could not speak; her thoughts formed the plea that her voice could not.

_Make me forget… _

Her eager lips against his and her hands tangling in his hair spoke of her pain, of her need, more fluently than words.

_That I can't save him… _

"Are you –"

_That I can't save _you…

She silenced him with another kiss, and he had the sense not to ask again. From then on, he spoke not with words, but with hands and lips and tongue…

When at last they lay together, on a bed made of their discarded clothing and warmed by the rays of the morning sun, Sango let her fears and worries go.

Miroku was a strong and comforting presence beside her; she would not lose him without a fight. Fear would do her no good… but action would. And so she would fight onward, for the life and happiness she so desperately wanted.

She looked to the sky and sighed, realizing that, like the sun, hope had been there all along.


	26. Father's Influence

Author's Note: Written for the "father" prompt at the lj community mirsan_fics.

**Father's Influence  
**

Sango had never allowed herself to look before, but she did now. Curiosity and lingering sadness had drawn her to the veranda, where she stood, looking into the bowl-shaped depression in the earth and wondering…

Who was this man, and how had he shaped his son, her husband? And… if things had not gone as they did, what might have been? Might Miroku have shared this fate?

She shuddered despite the warmth of the evening.

"There you are," Miroku said pleasantly, from somewhere behind her. "I was wondering where you ran off to."

"Mmm."

He came to stand beside her and said nothing more. She wondered how much the sight of this grave pained him. She knew the pain of losing a father, but she had been a woman grown when it happened. He had been a child when he lost his father to the kazaana.

Miroku spoke so little of his past, or of his feelings. He masked everything carefully and well. She wanted to peel away the layers, to unravel the mystery and see the man beneath.

It would not be easily or quickly done, but… this could be a start.

She leaned against him, rested her head against his shoulder, and let him wrap an arm around her. The mood was so somber that his hand did not even stray toward her bottom. "Miroku?"

"Yes, my love?"

"Tell me about your father?"

He hesitated for a moment, then smiled. "I was very young when he died, but…"


	27. Aftermath

Author's Note: Written for the "lie" prompt at the lj community mirsan_fics.

**Aftermath  
**

Sango stood poised on the brink. It felt like she was trying to balance on a knife's edge, between the happy ending she wanted and the guilt she must admit.

For all their sorrows, they had victory in the end. Naraku was dead. There should be no more need for lies, for hiding things from one another, or for sadness. It should be time for a new beginning, a new life, and for the seeds of happiness to take root. And she had thrown it all away the moment she threw Hiraikotsu at Rin.

And with Miroku staring at her earnestly, her hands clasped in his, trapping her there, she did not know what to do. How could she tell him that in the end it was she who would not uphold their mutual promise? When he had asked her to live with him and bear his children, she had thought it would be he that broke the promise… not her.

"Sango," he said, softly. She looked away. She couldn't look at him anymore. The shame of her actions felt like it might eat her alive. "Sango, why won't you look at me?"

She quivered; he released her. But he did not leave, like she had half expected him to.

"Sango, if it is not your wish to be my wife, then simply say the word."

She wanted to lie. She wanted to tell him that yes, it was true that she no longer wanted him, that she never wanted to see him again. But at the same time, she knew he deserved better than that. He deserved to know the truth, and decide for himself whether to stay beside her or leave her to her fate.

"It's not that," she said, trying rather unsuccessfully not to choke. "It has nothing to do with you."

"Then I must admit I am at a loss."

"During the battle," she said, trying her best to keep going, "when we were separated… I encountered Naraku." She was so caught up in her story that she missed the guilty look at that crossed his face. "What I thought was Naraku, anyway. He had Rin with him."

"That despicable bastard…"

Hot tears pricked her eyes. "He said that if I did not kill him then and there, that the wind tunnel would open fully and consume you. But he knew that Sesshomaru was on his way, and used Rin as a shield."

"Sango…"

"I tried to kill him anyway," she went on, forcing out the words even though they left a bitter taste in her mouth. "Even though it meant I'd kill a helpless, innocent child, too."

Miroku was silent for a moment. Obviously he knew that she had not killed Rin, for the girl – and Sesshomaru – was still staying with them in Kaede's village. She had been reluctant to admit to any of this, as the demon lord had made no mention of it at all in the days since the jewel's destruction. But the fact that he lingered had made her nervous, and Miroku's confrontation this afternoon had put her over the edge.

She'd had to confess. And now, when he wasn't even saying anything now that he knew the truth… she thought she might die.

"I should never have left you alone," he said, finally, his voice little more than a harsh whisper.

His response took her by surprise. "What?" she asked, hardly even realizing that the question had slipped out. She was compelled by curiosity and looked at him then, and wanted nothing more than to soothe the guilty expression from his face.

"If I had stayed with you, Naraku would not have been able to trick you like that." He laughed darkly. "I wonder if he hoped Sesshomaru would kill you, or if he was just doing it so he could die knowing you would be tormented by guilt for the rest of your life."

She had no answer for that. Naraku was dead, and would probably not admit to anything even if he were still alive.

Cautiously, Miroku wrapped his arms around her and drew her close; she gladly let him embrace her. She almost thought she heard him whisper, "Forgive me."

She nearly clung to him, finding comfort in the strength and warmth he provided. A few tears managed to slip out, but she blinked the rest away. It was a struggle to keep from dissolving into helpless sobs, but somehow she managed to cling to discipline. She relished every moment safe in his arms, knowing that this might be her only chance to be this close to him.

Miroku held her until the last of her tremors faded, but he suddenly stiffened and pulled away. "Ah. Lord Sesshomaru," he said, bowing politely.

His greeting gave Sango a few seconds to compose herself. She did the best she could, and then turned to face the one who would decide her fate. She had thought that she was prepared for this moment, or at least as prepared as she could be… but it was not enough.

At the sight of the demon lord, Sango felt her heart stop in her chest. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think… For the first time in many years, she was frozen with fear and apprehension. Miroku's hand rubbed her arm soothingly.

"Lord Sesshomaru," she managed, surprised to find that her voice was more than a mere squeak. She bowed deeply, more formally than was necessary. But it did not hurt to be polite, especially to one she had wronged.

When she rose, she found that the demon lord was scrutinizing her. It almost looked as if he had raised an eyebrow – just a fraction – but he made no comment about her behavior.

"Rin will stay here. I have discussed it with the priestess."

The two humans stared. Sango managed, somehow, to find her voice. "But… why?"

"She must learn to behave as a human."

And with that, he was gone.

Sango gaped. She knew that his actions, and the decision to leave Rin in the same village with her, meant that she was forgiven. She still felt guilty. She almost wished she had lied to Miroku, that he might not know how deeply her flaws reached inside of her.

And yet, for all her fear… he did not seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to think that at least part of the blame lay with himself, and not with her. She wondered, distantly, what she had done to deserve a man as understanding as this one, and said a silent 'thank-you' to whatever it was, gods or karma or something else altogether, that had set them on the same path.

She let out a sigh of relief, and very nearly sagged against Miroku.

He smiled and slipped an arm around her, pulling her close. "I think you've just been granted a new start."


	28. Payback

Author's Note: Written for the "revenge" prompt at the lj community iyissekiwa.

**Payback**

It had been going on for days, and Sango was sick and tired of it.

When she had begun her journey with Inuyasha, Kagome, and Miroku, she had quickly realized that the boys saw her only as a warrior. She was a companion to watch their backs, to help guard their jewel shards, to get in a few blows against Naraku. Only Kagome had seemed aware that Sango was also a young woman.

She wondered darkly, as she felt Miroku's hand rub against her bottom for what felt like the millionth time that day, when all that had changed.

Not slapping that hand away immediately was a mistake. It lingered, rubbing and massaging enthusiastically. As if touching her meant heaven on earth. That monk had a lot of nerve…

Her posture grew stiff; she bristled with rage at the uninvited contact. It was so intense that she was actually shaking from the force of it. She had been chastising him and slapping him away all day, to no avail. Was there no way to make that damn monk learn?

His fingers squeezed gently. That was the last straw.

"Will you knock it off?" she demanded. She did not hit him or move his hand away; instead, she reached over and grabbed his butt and squeezed, hard.

Miroku leapt away from her, yelping in shock.

Mission accomplished, and lesson hopefully learned, Sango strode purposefully forward... and tried to pretend he wouldn't be back at it the very next chance he got.


	29. Denial

Author's Note: Written for the "jealousy" prompt at the lj community mirsan_fics.

**Denial  
**

_I'm not jealous_, Miroku thought, a well-practiced expression, deceptive in its serenity hiding his thoughts from those around him.

Takeda Kuranosuke had everything and more, and now the young lord wanted Sango. Kagome was against the idea, but Miroku knew it was none of their business.

It was simple, really. If Sango had a chance at happiness, who was he to take it from her?

He was only a monk, with no fortune and no future.

_I'm not jealous._

And why would he be? Years of training and wandering had taught him not to envy those who might have what he never could. Or so he told himself.

So today he kept busy not with booze or women, but investigating the demon attack that had brought them here. Anything to stay away from Sango. And Kagome.

With her futuristic views of courtship, Kagome was fraying his already tattered patience. _Go after her, don't let Sango marry him!_

Didn't she see that this wasn't about what he wanted? It was about what was best for Sango.

Loath as he was to admit it, he had grown attached to Sango. His life was dangerously limited, and he dared not add that burden to those she already carried. A relationship with Sango could never happen. It was too much to ask.

He wandered the afternoon away, too agitated to focus anymore.

Later, he overheard Takeda ask Sango to marry him; Miroku turned away, overpowered by… something.

_I'm_ not _jealous._

He could say it as many times as he wanted, but it would never change the fact that he was.


	30. Compromise

Author's Note: Written for the "blue" prompt at the lj community mirsan_fics.

**Compromise  
**

All he could see in front of him was blue. Endless blue, marred by flecks of white – clouds, his addled mind told him – and… Sango. The demon slayer showed no fear as they plunged higher and higher into the sky, both seated astride her companion demon, Kirara.

He had ridden Kirara only once before, and that had been _nothing_ like this. Miroku kept staring up ahead of them, into the sky, because he did not think he had the stomach to attempt to look down.

"Hey," Sango grumbled, squirming in his arms, "Hands to yourself, monk!" When he did not let go, and he would not let go because so far as he was concerned he was clinging for dear life, she added, "And who said you could grab onto me like this? It's perfectly safe –"

Miroku chanced a look down, and immediately wished he had not. They were drifting high above the tallest trees; he could not even make out the shape of their friends below them. He hoped Sango knew what she was doing.

"Watch the hands," Sango snarled suddenly.

At first, Miroku wondered what the problem was. Then he realized that his hands might possibly have crept up her torso to the point where their position could (conceivably) be considered inappropriate, and hastily moved them lower. He considered it an unwise idea to let go altogether, but Sango did not seem mollified by the fact that he had willingly corrected his error.

She glared over her shoulder at him, as if daring him to keep his hands on her. "You don't need to cling like that…and there is no excuse for _groping_ –"

"Well if you did not wish for me to touch you, then why did you offer to let me ride with you?"

"Use your staff," she sighed. Aggravation was evident in her voice.

"What?" He started, blinking rapidly. He wondered if he might make her so angry that she would hurl him from Kirara's back.

"Not _that_ staff, you pervert," she grumbled. "The one that's been digging into my ribcage while you act as if we're about to die. Put it across my lap and hang onto that."

Reluctantly, he did as he was told and hoped for the best. But he had to admit, it had been much more comfortable when he had been pressed up against Sango. Miroku sighed. _If only…_


	31. Twisting Fate

Author's Note: Written for the "luck" prompt at the lj community mirsan_fics.

**Twisting Fate  
**

Sango was staring intently into the fire, oblivious to all else. Miroku had to wonder if she realized it might better be described as 'glowering'.

Shrugging, he sat beside her. He knew that she would talk eventually, if something was really bothering her.

For a long time, she said nothing. Silence reigned, save for the occasional crackling of the fire. It was strange to be alone... No companions, no interruptions, no distractions.

Miroku poked at the fire with a stick, sending sparks up to the heavens.

Sango made a sound that was half sigh, half wry chuckle. "Fate must despise us," she said at last.

"How so?"

"That we met, like this. There is pain and suffering all around us, always." She paused for a beat. "But you know that already, don't you, Houshi-sama?"

Miroku smiled thoughtfully. "Perhaps. But I do not blame fate for our meeting... I think it was luck that brought us together."

He could almost see her heart skip a beat as a delicate blush colored her cheeks.

Yes, definitely luck.


	32. Reason to Fight

Author's Note: Written for the "quiet" prompt at the lj community mirsan_fics.

**Reason to Fight  
**

"Please!" Sango screams, her voice rough. "I am your sister!"

The response is almost too quiet: "Do I know you?"

She lets him go, and allows a single sob to pass her lips. An instant later, the dead-looking boy is gone.

Miroku watches, unseen.

In the silence, he hears the sound of her heart as it shatters into a million pieces.

He realizes: Naraku thrives on this pain…

As if Miroku needed more reason to fight, now he must watch Sango suffer, again.

He decides, then and there, that he will kill Naraku even if it means his own death.


	33. The Monk's Path

It was late. Miroku knew he should at least try to sleep, but he was too restless for that.

He could scarcely believe that, just a few hours ago, he had asked Sango to spend the rest of her days with him. When circumstance exerted enough pressure on him, he chose the "right" path without so much as a second thought.

Anything to see her smile again, when he had been the one to hurt her.

And now it was too late to change his mind.

This was undeniable proof of how far he'd come. Finally finding an opportunity to take stock of the situation, he marveled at how far he had drifted, not only from the path of a true monk, but from the course he had set for himself.

He had been a bad monk from the start, though he supposed he had Mushin to blame for that. He was too fond of women and drink to ever be a good monk, concerning himself with earthly pleasures and his quest for vengeance.

He had planned to succeed where his father had failed before him, or die trying. He hadn't planned on love or friendship; there simply wasn't time for such luxuries.

Looking at the friends around him, he knew he'd been a fool to believe that. His plans had hit a snag the moment he let them into his life, and by the time he met and came to care for Sango, that snag had become a complete unraveling.

Every time Sango sighed or frowned or hit him, every time she called him 'Houshi-sama' and didn't mean it... he wanted to be the kind of man that she could care for and admire, even trust.

And, watching her as she slept, he swore to become that man, if only he could survive long enough to do it.


	34. New Skills

Notes: This was written for the "skill" prompt at mirsan_fics. It is a crossover between _InuYasha _and _Aion_, but you shouldn't need to know anything about _Aion _to understand the fic.

**New Skills**

A visit to Sanctum was always a welcome break from the arduous road of the Daeva... as well as from more personal quests. Miroku had always loved the airy architecture and sweeping vistas of the Elyos capital city. It was the closest thing he had ever found to "home", in all his years.

But now he stood inside the Protector's Hall and fidgeted, glancing around somewhat impatiently. They had made this trip in the name of training... so where was Sango?

Ordinarily he would make a trip to the Outer Docks and the tavern there rather than worry himself with training, but today he was preoccupied. Shortly after teleporting in, Sango had disappeared. Sure, their other companions had also disappeared, but they had informed him where they were going first. Sango had simply slipped away while his back was turned. He considered himself to be quite observant, so this bothered him.

A teasing voice in the back of his head reminded him that she was an Assassin and therefore a master of stealth who could disappear virtually whenever she wished, but it did not make him feel better.

Where the hell would she have gone?

It hit him then.

Hiraikotsu. Her weapon had been damaged in their latest round of battles... No doubt she had gone off to repair it, which meant he knew where to find her. She'd be in the weaponsmithy.

Sighing, he made his way through the Hall toward his least favorite part of Sanctum: that hot and horrid place where especially skilled Daevas forged their weapons. Exceptionally skilled Daevas like Sango. Miroku himself avoided the place as often as possible.

The weaponsmithy was stifling. It was crowded, overwhelmingly hot, and so loud he could barely hear himself think. He nearly flinched before entering, and wondered how Sango could stand the place.

But when he finally managed to track her down, at one of the forges near the back of the room, he knew why. She was lovingly making repairs to her primary weapon, the giant boomerang called Hiraikotsu.

He watched her from a distance for a few moments, a faint smile on his face, until a huge, gruff-looking man (probably a Templar, he reflected) bumped into him and ordered him to get out of the way. Deciding it was best to obey someone that was twice his size and fully capable of crushing him, Miroku snuck along the wall until he managed to find Sango.

For a while he had a good vantage point as she worked at the weapon... She was certainly dedicated to her craft.

Then he remembered why he had come here in the first place, and an idea struck.

"Sango," he said, though he had to nearly shout to be heard over the din.

"Oh," she said in surprise. "I didn't see you there, Houshi-sama."

"I learned a new skill today," he replied congenially.

Sweat poured down Sango's face; she wiped it away and gave him a distinctly annoyed look. He'd come all the way in here and interrupted her work, for that? "If you don't mind, I'm trying to repair Hiraikotsu."

"Ah, yes, of course." After a beat, he added, "Would you mind if I showed you?"

She looked up, momentarily confused. "Your new skill? Yes, that's fine, just let me finish here first."

"Of course," he agreed. Someone jostled into him from behind, nearly knocking him into the blisteringly hot weapon forge. "Maybe I'll wait outside."

Sango smiled. "That might be best."

He waded through the crowd and outside into the - blissfully cool and breezy - Hall. It was not long before Sango emerged, just long enough to make him edgy.

She had hefted Hiraikotsu into its customary place on her back and was smiling widely. All was right with the world. Her good mood was infectious.

"Ready?" he asked.

She nodded. "We going to do this here?"

"Sure, why not? This is as good a place as any."

Sango crossed her arms over her chest. "Okay, let's see it, then."

Miroku grinned and began to recite a spell from the tome he carried. As he said the last words of the incantation, roots sprouted from the floor, wrapping and twisting themselves around Sango's legs, effectively immobilizing her. She seemed less than impressed.

"That's not a new skill," she pointed out crossly. She tried to pull her legs free and sighed when the roots only gripped her tighter. "You've been able to do that since before I met you."

"Ah, that's not the new one," he said, allowing an apologetic tone to creep into his voice.

"Then what's it for?" she demanded, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

His smile never fading, Miroku stepped behind her and rubbed his hand enthusiastically over her bottom. Sensing her increasing fury, he leapt out of the way just in time to avoid the fist (not to mention the dagger that fist gripped) that she swung at him.

"It's to make sure I get a head start," he admitted, gleefully. Sango's howl of rage echoed through the entire Hall as he turned and fled, but he could not keep the smile from his face.

She'd pummel him when she caught him - not if, _when_ - but that little prank had been totally worth it.


	35. Routine

Notes: This was written for the "faint" prompt at mirsan_fics.

**Routine**

By now he knows the routine. When she comes awake in the middle of the night, chased by nightmares, it is his job to soothe her.

By now he knows just the right words, the right caresses to ease her fears.

There's air, she can move, she has not been buried alive again. The house is silent, there's no stir of wind, the kazaana is gone.

In the darkness he holds her close and sighs.

_I'm here. I love you. We're safe. We're together._

And, in time, her ragged breaths become soft and calm again, the steady cadence by which he measures his life.


	36. Inevitable

Written for the **breath** theme at mirsan_fics.

** Inevitable**

So close... She's a breath away from death and nothing he can do will save her. It's a cruel twist of fate that he was willing to die for her and in the end his devotion means nothing.

So still... At last he is able to hold her; she is cradled, unmoving, barely breathing, in his arms. The circumstances are breaking his heart.

So quiet... Her last request, uttered an eternity ago, echoes in his ears. _"Take me with you."_

He bows his head, waiting for the inevitable, his mind full of the things he cannot say to her. _Sango, I'm sorry._


	37. UnAnswered Questions

Note: I don't usually write poetry, but I gave it a shot when iyissekiwa hosted a poetry challenge... Imagine my surprise when my entry placed second in the haiku category!

-x-

Am I a woman,  
Sango wonders, or am I  
just one of the guys?

She fights beside them,  
Hiraikotsu ready  
Deadly... beautiful?

Although she is strong,  
from time to time she wavers -  
fleetingly unsure.

Her question: is it  
better to be a woman  
or a warrior?

When their battles are done,  
their greatest foe laid to rest,  
which life should she choose?

The monk's sneaky hand,  
in its place on her bottom,  
gives the answer: both.


	38. Trust

Sango was subdued as she followed Miroku. She walked in silence, keeping a goodly distance between the two of them.

Miroku watched her, casting furtive, sidelong glances periodically in her direction. He could see the frustration and disappointment writ across her face, and sighed.

This had been their first demon extermination since Naraku's defeat. It was also the first they had undertaken as a married pair.

Everything would have been fine had the problem not turned out to be the sorrowful spirit of a young woman, condemned to walk the earth until her heart found peace. She had been duped by a local demon, and the two had become a monster.

It was dealt with easily enough. Miroku had assisted perhaps a dozen such ghosts in his lifetime. The problem was Sango.

She had thought that marriage would ease her fears and even her temper. She'd been wrong. If anything, it had only made her more fiercely protective of him.

Miroku had seen it coming and refused to let it bother him, but Sango had grown angry when he dealt with the spirit-woman. Horrified by the force of her own baseless jealousy, she had withdrawn.

He had let her stew in it. She would only turn anything he said against him, anyway, and one of them needed to discuss the terms of their service with the village head. And since he was the better negotiator, it might as well be him.

But now, on the way home, when it was just the two of them... the awkward silence tore at his heart.

He let his steps grow slower; she was lost in her own thoughts and did not notice until they were walking side by side. "What's the matter?" he asked, innocently.

"Huh? Nothing's the matter." Her voice betrayed her, wavering uncertainly.

"Obviously something is, or you wouldn't be sulking like this."

Her face colored just a little. "I'm sorry, Houshi-sama. My behavior today was inexcusable."

"What makes you say that?"

"I should trust you more than that. You did nothing dishonorable, and I acted as if you had, just because I was afraid you might."

"Sango," he said, choosing his words carefully, "I knew when I married you that it would be difficult for you to trust me. I don't expect it to happen all at once. All I ask is that you try."

"It's hard," she confessed. "When for so long you would always..." she trailed off; he knew what she was referring to, and did not push it. She was right, after all. In the past, he had given her very few reasons to trust him around other women.

"It's hard to change one's habits. But it can be done. Or am I not proof enough of that?" He let her fall a bit behind, giving her space to think about what he had said.

After a moment, she caught up. "You're right," she said. "I promise I'll keep trying."

He smiled. "I couldn't ask for more."


	39. Rain

Author's note: The song used in this story is "Let it Rain" by Sarah Brightman; I make no claim to the song, but am merely borrowing its lyrics to set the tone for my story. This story was written for the "connection" prompt at the livejournal community mirsan_fics.

-x-

_It's tempting, haunting  
Love is the law  
It's temple, it's empty  
From grace we fall  
It feels like on the outside, looking in  
We always wonder how it could have been_

-x-

"Take me with you."

There are no more words to say. All she can do is cling to him as her life fades away. All he can do is hold her close until the curse in his hand opens and swallows them both - or the poison air kills them.

The ground beneath them is soft, cradling them in their last moments. But it is no refuge, it is wrought of the flesh of their enemy. And the rain that falls softly all around them is not of clear, gentle water, but deadly miasma.

Together they wait, and are overcome.

-x-

_Let it rain, let it rain  
Why can't we find love again?  
Let it rain, let it rain  
Still I drown in tears of pain  
Over again..._

-x-

A thousand lifetimes stretch before them, reaching forward and backward in time. Their souls are connected - at times closely entwined, at others mere one-time acquaintances.

The Path stretches on before them, beckoning. The way is both dark and light, made of equal parts fear and desire. It draws them together and pulls them apart, but fate honors their bond and their sacrifice.

Each life brings a tiny seed of understanding, or peace, or absolution. Bit by precious bit, their souls evolve and grow, becoming again what they were meant to be.

Anguish shattered them; only time will heal them.

-x-

_Where do we end? Where do we begin?  
__Are we lost, or must we lose to win?  
Are we free to choose the lives we live?_

-x-

It's a cloudy, dreary summer day in Tokyo; the daily trudge to work and back again seems more oppressive than ever, anonymous masses loom on every side.

Two strangers pass on the street.

The shadow of a spark, some ethereal connection, passes between them.

She turns, he turns, eyes meet – there is something there.

They pause, the two of them, helpless to do anything but stare, searching for that mysterious something, the reason that they recognize one another. Only the gods know if they will find what they seek.

Perhaps, this time…

Somewhere far above, the first drops of rain begin to fall.

-x-

_Let it rain..._


	40. The Fortuneteller's Woe

Notes: Written for the "question" prompt at the LiveJournal community mirsan_fics.

-x-

"Do we have to? This place gives me the creeps."

"What, are you _scared_, Naoki?"

Ami's younger brother glanced around nervously, taking in the weather-worn tent and faded signs that promised palm readings, divinations, and revelations of past, present, and future. Ami had to admit it was creepier than the rest of the carnival, but she had always wanted to have her fortune told.

"I'm not scared!" Naoki insisted, striding purposefully up to the tent's entrance to prove it.

Ami followed, grinning.

An older woman awaited them inside, introducing herself as Lady Clara, clairvoyant. A lame name, Ami thought, but she told the old woman that she wanted her fortune told anyway.

"I will tell two stories for the price of one," the woman offered, indicating both children, "for they are closely intertwined."

The siblings glanced at each other nervously, before Ami ventured, "Okay."

The fortuneteller took the proffered money, leaned back in her chair, and began to weave her tale. "I see an illustrious life for each of you, lived five hundred years ago in Japan."

She gave each of them a baleful glare for a moment, as if expecting them to protest, before going on. "You," she pointed at Ami, "a slayer of demons and monsters. And you," she gestured to Naoki, "a powerful monk."

She told them of the hardships these past selves had endured, how they had helped destroy a monstrous tyrant, a man who would have plunged the entire world into darkness. She told of a great battle fought, and a great victory won.

Eager to hear more, Ami asked, "What happened after that?"

"They got married and lived happily ever after, with many children," Clara told them.

"What?" Ami shouted, horrified.

"Ew, gross!" Naoki made a gagging sound.

Clara shrugged, obviously irritated. "You asked."


	41. Her Burden

He tried to bear it once, the weapon called Hiraikotsu. In a fit of curiosity borne of boredom, Miroku hefted the great mass of forged bone and thought, in some small way, to understand the woman who carried it.

While its rightful owner laid bedridden but no longer dying of her wounds, while his friends spent their time on more worthwhile pursuits, he held Hiraikotsu up and considered. It was uncomfortably heavy and ridiculously awkward for a primary weapon. And yet he had seen it wielded with stunning ease and effectiveness, by a young woman whose strength and courage and stoic sense of honor had already had a greater impression upon him than he could have known.

Then, he had been merely perplexed by the way a slight young woman could effortlessly bear such a large and ungainly weapon.

But now, with trials and travails and miles between the them of then and the them of now, he knows better.

He has watched and learned, and time has opened his eyes. Compared to the other burdens that rest so squarely on her shoulders - grief, sorrow, loneliness, vengeance - the weight of Hiraikotsu is light indeed.


	42. Bittersweet

It's becoming a problem.

Sango is not a woman who can afford distractions, and yet that is exactly what the monk has become. He steals into her mind at the worst possible moments, dividing her attention and compromising her resolve.

She wonders what it would be like if he asked her the things he asks other women (bear my child?). She wonders what it would be like to have an after instead of the interminable now (she dares not think she might find a happily-ever-after). On the nights after battle, when her body cries out from pain and anguish and neglect, she wonders what it would be like to let him take all of that suffering away from her in the way he knows best (what would those lips taste like, how would his hands feel against her bare flesh?).

And in quiet, secret moments, she thinks it might not be so bad to wake every morning beside him for the rest of her life.

It must stop; this is dangerous.

She tries her best to shut him out, to remind herself of all his flaws and his innumerable bad habits, but it's a struggle that becomes more difficult with each passing day. Each night he worms his way just that much deeper into what's left of her heart, and each day she fights that much harder to push the desire for him away.

And still those treacherous thoughts creep in, like unwanted guests oblivious to her desire for solitude.


	43. Threads of Memory

Sango awoke with fear pulsing through her veins. Darkness pressed in around her, stifling.

Wind gusted fiercely somewhere and for a moment the dark shapes that loomed around her were frightening and unfamiliar, but gradually awareness dawned. Her mind, all tangled up in knots from dreaming, had slipped the bonds of _now_ and returned to _then_.

But the sound she heard was only a gust of wind and not the kazaana, after all, and the shapes in the darkness were those of Kaede's hut and not the depths of the grave she left behind so long ago. The fear she felt was only the lingering memory of Naraku, not the pulse-pounding rush that came from facing some imminent threat. The warmth that pervaded was not the heat of a summer journey, but of her husband, who shared her blanket as he slept on the mat beside her.

She was safe and sound and whole, and so was he.

Recognizing the truth did not help her return to sleep; after all, that was where the memories were waiting. She shifted restlessly, waking Miroku in her agitation. By now he was well-acquainted with the paths of her nightmares, so he simply tugged her closer and held her so tightly that there wasn't room for fear to come between them.

"It's over," he whispered, his face pressed against her neck, his hands skillfully soothing the fear away.

"Yes," she agreed, and wished it wasn't so easy to forget.


	44. Shift

Written for the free write challenge at fanfic bakeoff way back in July. 100 words.

* * *

Looking back, she is not sure when it started, this shift. His overtures toward her are less blatant, and occur less often than they did in the past. She can't remember the last time she saw him approach a village girl with a lecherous look on his face.

She knows why his thoughts are elsewhere; she has seen the shouki wounds spreading from the kazaana. Seeing him so focused, so frightened, makes her nervous. Concern strikes her even at the oddest times.

She is terrified of losing him.

And, to her consternation, she misses that hand on her ass.


	45. Getting Started

Author's Note: Written for the "shell" prompt at the livejournal community iyfic_contest.

-x-

Miroku watched quietly as Sango carefully laid a selection of small bits of shell on the floor of their hut. He'd noticed her collecting them over the past few months, though he'd had little idea what she was up to.

Ignoring him, she told her daughters, "Take a look at these. Touch them, look at them in light and in shadow, and see if you can tell me what creatures they come from."

Stepping back to stand beside her husband, she allowed the girls to investigate these new treasures.

"Do Taijiya often begin training this young?" Miroku asked, catching on.

Sango smiled gently. Her eyes never left her children as she answered, "Most start earlier, but their little brother required my attention when I would have liked to begin their training. And now I think if I don't start teaching them soon, they will probably have another little brother or sister before too long and I'll never find the time."

Miroku chuckled. "So it's my fault they're starting late?"

Sango gave him an impish look, but did not answer his question. Instead she went to kneel between their daughters and carefully picked up a piece of turtle shell. "What do you think this comes from?" she asked, grinning as both girls chorused the correct answer. "And do you think this could be used to make a weapon?"

As she continued to quiz the girls, Miroku realized that, cute as they were, one day his children would make fine Taijiya indeed.


	46. Far From Home

Note: This was originally written for the "long distance" prompt at the livejournal community iyfic_contest.

* * *

Sometimes at night, when the children are sleeping, Sango finds herself sitting on the porch outside her hut, watching the stars and wondering. Somewhere, her little brother is out there and she cannot help but worry about him.

After all that they went through, all that he went through, she still wishes she could have kept him close even though she knows she never could. It would have been too cruel. And besides, she knows just how capable a Taijiya he has become in the past several years.

She knows, but she still worries.

Sometimes, when he is not off on his own journeys with InuYasha, Miroku comes and sits beside her in the dark, lending his strength and understanding. It helps some, but nothing can take all the worry away. It no longer threatens to consume her as it once did, but it is always there in the back of her mind.

But no matter how much she worries and how much she hopes, eventually Kohaku always comes back, hale and healthy and with plenty of stories and experiences to share.

Each time he returns, Sango greets him with a smile and all the love in her heart. And each time he returns, the fears fade a little and the worries grow a bit fewer and farther between.

Maybe someday, she thinks, she won't have to worry anymore. And then she laughs, because after everything they've been through, she is still his big sister. It's her job to worry.


	47. Taijiya Training

The smell was the first thing Miroku noticed as he made his way home after a long day on the road. It was pungent and detectible from quite a distance, and oddly familiar. Clearly something unusual had been going on during his absence.

He did his best to be quiet as he entered the hut, so as not to disturb Sango and the children, but they heard him anyway and turned to greet him as he came in. The interior of the hut was slightly smoky and was indeed the source of the acrid smell. It burned at his nose and eyes, but he was immediately curious upon seeing his wife and his two eldest daughters with identical surprised and slightly guilty looks on their faces.

"Welcome home, husband," Sango said.

"What is going on here?" Miroku asked.

"Cooking lessons," she answered, the very picture of innocence.

"Cooking," he mused, noting the dark smudge of… something on her cheek.

One of the twins giggled, her sister following suit a moment later.

"And what sorts of things have you three been cooking up while I was gone?" he wondered aloud, inching further into the hut in hopes of getting a better look.

"Nothing you'd want to eat," Sango informed him before he could get too far.

"The lesson did not go well, then?"

"It wasn't that kind of cooking."

It took a beat for that to make sense in his head. "So, you were cooking…"

"Look!" the younger of the twins said proudly, turning to grab a basket filled with small, slightly misshapen pellets, which she held up for her father to see. Miroku would have recognized them anywhere – they were Taijiya scent beads – and immediately understood what his wife was up to.

He dutifully inspected his daughters' work, noting that the beads were the source of the bad smell that permeated the house. "Very nice," he commented, earning a delighted smile from each of the girls. Turning to Sango he said, "I take it we'll be eating late tonight?"

She looked slightly sheepish. "They were doing so well, I lost track of the time."

Later that night, after they had eaten dinner and put the children to bed, Miroku found himself sitting with Sango in the main room of their house. "You're teaching them to make scent beads?"

"It is a useful skill," Sango murmured. "And they're quite good at it. They catch on quickly."

"What's the next lesson?" Miroku asked, curious. "Swordplay?"

"Sewing."

"Sewing?"

"They're too little yet, I think, to decide if they wish to be fighters. In another year or two, maybe…"

When his wife first began to train their daughters in the Taijiya ways, Miroku had been expecting daily exercises and wooden practice weapons, or perhaps lessons concerning battle strategy or the different types of youkai, not… lessons in cooking and sewing.

Seeing that she had taken her husband by surprise, Sango let her amusement show. "Not all Taijiya training takes place on the battlefield, husband."


	48. Left Behind

It was difficult, letting go for the first time. Watching him leave and forcing herself to stay behind, as a good wife should, even as her instincts cried out for her to join him.

But she kept her loneliness to herself and saw him off with a smile. And when he was gone, she busied herself with the work of keeping house, and in the end it wasn't as difficult as she had feared. She worried, of course, because her husband was off to deal with a youkai and she knew better than most just how dangerous such work could be. But she had always thought it would be different.

For months she had dreaded the very thought of this day, the day he would wander off on his own again and leave her behind to wonder: would he return, or would he simply disappear forever?

But now that it had happened, there was no doubt in her heart. Only a short while ago, she might have given in to the habits learned from months on the road together, might have looked at each woman he might meet as a potential rival. But now, with the first of their children growing large within her, she had no fear.

Miroku might always look at other women, but she was the one he had chosen to share his life with. She was the one who would bear his children. And she knew, in the deepest part of her heart, that no matter how far he wandered, his home would be with her.


	49. Vigilant

Long after the children had been put to bed, when the fire in the hearth had burned low and the dark of night had crept into the house, Sango sat awake. She could not sleep, so instead she listened to the sounds of the night and watched the subtle shifting of shadows on the wall. Perhaps if she tried hard enough, she would hear the sound which she most wanted to hear.

She had hidden her worries for most of the evening, because she did not wish her children to fear, but she did not bother to hide her feelings now that she was alone. Miroku was late. He should have been home from the youkai extermination hours ago, but there was no sign of him or InuYasha.

And though she knew Miroku and InuYasha were both very skilled at what they did, the fear still lingered in her mind the way the shadows lingered in the corners of her home. She was a Taijiya; she knew what youkai could do. And she knew that even the best exterminators were only human, and could make mistakes. And sometimes those mistakes were fatal.

It was that knowledge that kept her from sleeping on nights like this, when Miroku was out later than expected.

To distract herself, she built the fire back up and set water to heat before returning to her vigil. And soon, sure enough, she heard the sound she had been waiting for: the sound of footsteps on the path outside the hut.

And when the door slid open and her husband stepped over the threshold and into their home, she was ready with a tired smile and a pot of fresh tea. And instead of asking all of the questions that had plagued her all night, which had become suddenly unimportant, all she said was, "Welcome home, husband."


	50. Cold

Note: Just a little Mir/San fluff for your New Year's Eve!

* * *

Through the open door flap and past her husband, Sango could see the thick drifts of snow. Gusts of wind blew shining white flecks up from time to time even as more fell from the sky. It was almost pretty. But what Sango noticed the most was the way the door, pulled aside by her husband, was letting all the heat from the hearth fire _out_.

"Come back inside," Sango urged. "It's cold out there."

Miroku stood in the doorway a while longer, surveying the results of last night's winter storm. After a few moments he did as she suggested, but there was a smirk on his face when he sat beside her in front of the fire.

"What's that look for?" she asked, curious as to where his thoughts were wandering.

The smirk turned into a smile as he reached for her. She let him pull her to him, enjoying the heat of him beside her. He leaned close to murmur, "The cold isn't so bad when you have someone to keep you warm."


End file.
